


Amends

by BeardedFrog



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: Androids, F/M, Friendship, Gen, android repair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeardedFrog/pseuds/BeardedFrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ripley and Bishop try to better understand one another on their flight back to the USS Colonial Marine HQ. Friendship and repair, right at the end of Aliens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ReCOVER

**Author's Note:**

> A/N's: This was taken from a prompt on LJ's Prometheus Kink -  
>  _"Ripley/Bishop or Ripley and Bishop, forget Alien3 happened. give me an afterward that veers away from canon. give me friendship (and repair), or more. I've shipped these two since I was *ten*. there has to be someone else out there who does."_
> 
> Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. I hope I delivered, Anon.
> 
> Secondly, a 404 in an android's case would be similar to an Error 404 in Internet/HTML speak, but it would be like a complete system crash. Not quite suicide, but it would be near impossible to get him to operate normally again.

Still shaken, but invigorated with victory from the near-death encounter with the Queen, Ripley heaved Bishop's upper half, his lanky arms roped around her neck from behind, his head resting over her shoulder. Newt trailed close behind as the three wandered briskly down the halls. He clung on as she made frequent stops.

"Where is the medical ward?" Ripley asked, slightly breathless. The Sulaco was a massive warship, not a commercial freighter with all payload and little space for living quarters. She was, at best, familiar with only twenty percent of its rooms and chambers.

"Down the mess hall, then take a left. It has huge plexiglass walls." Bishop replied. He sounded pained, but steeled it.

She broke into a jog, followed his coordinates - and almost missed it.

"Ripley, it's over here!" Newt's voice popped her train of thought. Her mind was so dead-set on finding the pilot cabin and getting all four of them the hell out of here, she lost track of her true destination. Once through the sliding doors, she set him slowly down on the nearest hospital bed. Bishop let a stifled groan escape once his back met the mattress.

"Newt," Ripley started, "I need you to keep Bishop company, while I get this ship started so we can be out of here. You alright with that?"

"Affirmative," Newt chirped. She has seemed to have brightened considerably since they left the colony. Alas, Ripley knew this was the calm before the storm of whatever psychological trauma had been afflicted upon her. At least she had some comfort knowing she would be at Newt's side - _always_ \- to help her cope, as well as _genuinely_ sympathize with her potential suffering. She would never coldly brush it off like the company-employed psychiatrists had done to her.

As Ripley tore off to the pilot's cabin, Newt stayed at the bedside. Some moments of awkward silence. She wasn't sure what to say to an android with all of his guts hanging out...

"Does it hurt?" Newt asked on quiet impulse. She remembered how his face was a mask of mimicked pain and horror when the Queen tore him effortlessly in two, his systems reeling from shock.

Children were so honest, never to beat around the bush. "Yes, and no. I feel the pain here," he motioned around his torn abdominal skin and some synthetic muscles, "but the internal systems that are hanging out of me are completely numb."

Out of courtesy, he changed the subject. "How do _you_ feel? You aren't hurt, are you?"

Newt shook her head.

"Good, good." He sighed, relieved.

The two felt a deep rumble, and a slight veer to the left. Ripley must have punched in new coordinates for the ship and got it going. A few minutes later they watched the warrant officer run past the ward in a hurry; it would be another ten before she returned, this time with a half-conscious Hicks in tow. She helped ease him into the hospital bed, before she headed out again.

"Where are you off to now?" Bishop inquired.

"To get your other half," She was ready to dart off to her destination.

"Ripley, wait."

She stopped herself through the doorway, glanced back at him.

"You'll need to grab the toolbox for me. It's in the hypersleep chamber in locker thirty."

"Is it locked?"

"Yes, the combination is 25-7-18."

Off she went.

* * *

Several minutes spooled before the android turned to Newt, asking her, "If you don't mind, could you grab a few of those disposable cloths from the left medical cabinet?"

She nodded, grabbing a chair to climb onto the ledge, fetching the box of sanitary cloths without a hitch.

"If you can take a few out and get them damp under the faucet, I would appreciate it."

She took out three and went to the sink; faucet on, faucet off. He could hear her wrench out the excess water. She returned and gave the damp ones to Bishop.

"Thank you," as he began to wipe the 'blood' off his face, neck and hands. Newt plucked another cloth out of the box and ran back to rinse it.

"Oh, I don't need another-"

"Your hair has that milk-stuff all over it." She objected.

Bishop gave a gurgling chuckle. "I don't have a mirror to see, so I'll let you do it, Doctor Newt," he permitted, playfully. She gave a small, sheepish smile as she came forward to wipe his 'blood' off his hair.

Ripley returned right when Newt was handing him another dry cleaning cloth, three-foot-long tool box in one hand and hauling Bishop's still-bleeding legs over her shoulder. She set both down on his bed as she rummaged through the medical cabinets for hypodermic needles, pain-killers and antibiotic ointments.

"Newt, if you get the toolbox open and help him repair himself..." she mumbled, distracted by her current search.

Newt looked at the android with wide eyes, unsure what to do exactly. She reached for the long, industrial plastic tool kit and unclasped it. The cantilever trays sprung out before she could bat an eye. A hundred tools and replacement parts were nestled in dozens of compartments before her.

Bishop could see her become more overwhelmed by the second. "Don't feel pressured to do this, I'll have Ripley to patch me up."

"But..."

"It's okay. You helped me enough. You did a wonderful job cleaning me up, and you have my utmost gratitude for that," he praised, taking her tiny hand into his. He was able to ease another small smile from Newt, and felt a glow inside.

"Bishop, what did you give Hicks before we left the reactor station?"

"Morphine."

"No antibiotics?"

"I bandaged him up, cleaned up his eye injury."

"Alright, so I'll have to administer some..."

"Ripley," The android called out.

"Yes?" She was in the middle of calculating how much penicillin to withdraw from the vial.

"I can't repair myself."

She frowned as she drew the plunger, finally turning to him. "You can't?"

"No, I need you to do it. I know you are more than capable."

She didn't reply, trying to keep a straight face as she went to Hicks, quietly explaining the situation. He still appeared to be drowsy and in pain, but was listening intently as she cleaned up his cuts and nicks on his face. She then flicked the needle a few times to release any trapped bubbles, and injected the antibiotics into the crook of his arm.

Ripley motioned Newt over to Hicks' bedside. "Newt, are you comfortable taking a nap here?"

"Here?"

"You can rest with Hicks."

"He's okay with that?"

Ripley smiled as she stroked back a few stray strands from Newt's face; a familiar maternal gesture she hasn't done in a very long time. "Yes, he said so himself."

The girl turned to Hicks, who cracked a grin, and gave a weak lift and wave of the hand, his energy waning.

"C'mon, let's go find a change of clothes for you," Ripley suggested, placing a reassuring hand on Newt's back as they both left for the hypersleep chamber.

Bishop returned to the nagging thought after they departed: he couldn't quite pin down the expression she shot him earlier at his request for repair. Was she fearful? Disgusted? Agitated? Either way, it wasn't a positive response. Given her distrust towards synthetic persons due to her disastrous last mission, he must have overestimated her faith in him. He wouldn't push her.

Yet, she looked at him with such warm gratitude back at the hanger, after saving Newt. His processor continued to rack up possible interpretations; he can understand human emotions and respond, but Ripley was an outlier. She followed morals, ethics and logic, positioned herself far from the status quo, and refused to let her superiors mold her to how they saw fit. She was a harder one to read.

The two eventually returned, much more cleaned up: Newt shuffled in wearing an olive-green, oversized men's t-shirt, Ripley in spare military-issued under shirt and shorts. She helped the girl into bed, who promptly collapsed next to Hicks. Ripley talked to the Corporal for a while; he shifted to make more room for Newt while curling a protective arm around her.

As they dozed off, Ripley began to return the mess of vials and other medical items she yanked out.

"Ripley."

"Yes, Bishop?" She was almost done reorganizing.

"If you could be so kind, can you get the vinyl sack in the metal cabinet?"

"Now," She asked as she returned to him with the opalescent-translucent bag in hand. "What do I do with it?"

"Bag me up."

Ripley looked at the android as if he spouted something obscene. "What?"

"Bag me up. It will help keep me intact for the ride home."

"What about your legs? I thought you needed me to repair you?" Her eyes darted to his dismembered hips before him, then back to him.

"I understand, and take no offense, that you are not comfortable in placing your trust in me, due to your last mission."

"Bishop -"

"The technicians and programmers back at the Colonial Marine base will be able to fix-"

"Bishop!" Ripley barked. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she did not wake the two behind her. "Where did you get the idea that I didn't trust you?"

"When I requested assistance earlier, you appeared displeased, almost anxious." His voice was tense.

She frowned, trying to recall the moment, then returned with an expression that read, _'Ahh.'_

"I'm anxious about how I'm going to _fix_ you. The last time I attempted to reconnect an android, it was the one that nearly strangled me. A former crew member and I could barely get him to start talking. I am a bit fearful that I might reconnect certain wires and parts incorrectly, possibly making you half-paralyzed."

Bishop felt a weight - his initial worries - being lifted off his shoulders. "I wouldn't worry too much," he reassured, "I'll be here to guide you through the repair process. I don't mind if it takes you five hours or five days, as long as I can have my system stabilized."

Ripley gave a small laugh, thankful for his patience.

"You two reconnected him without any prior knowledge?" He continued.

"Lambert was the better technician out of the two of us, but yes, we were in the dark as we tried to fix him. We were able to get him to talking, but avoided telling us why Weyland-Yutani wanted the creature for. The more I reminisce on it, the more I am convinced he was intentionally hostile towards us on company orders."

"I will admit," Ripley continued, pulling up a wheeled chair right next to the android's bedside. "I am leery about where you swear allegiance to. I need to know how much I can trust you."

Bishop propped himself up with his elbows, listening intently and watching her lips as she spoke.

"Can I trust you not to turn on Hicks, Newt and I?" She inquired.

"I loyally serve the USS Colonial Marines and participate in any and all missions I am assigned to. However, I cannot buck orders issued by the company, unless trumped by military authority." He answered. Ripley released a frustrated exhale, her eyes downcast.

"However, if the company were to order me to kill you with or without extreme prejudice, I would flat-out decline. It is against my code to harm another human being." In a move that startled her, Bishop reached out, touching her arm. Her umber-brown eyes flicked up to his blue ones. "Not just that, I would _prefer_ to disobey. I would rather force myself to 404, than to lay a hand on you, or any of the others."

He would _prefer_ : a personal choice, not just following the code of the Three Laws of Robotics.

She gave him an assured smile. "Thank you," she acknowledged. Bishop tried to smile back, but was interrupted with a hiccup. He grimaced as a few severed but still-live wires squeaked.

"Well, we better get on with it," she muttered, still a bit anxious, leaning over Bishop to prop his pillows and himself up. Ripley then reached over to the long tool box, her slender hands hovering for a moment indecisively, before she picked up a long-necked electrical wand, and a high-tech soldering iron.

"Now, where do we start?"


	2. ReMEND

"Are all the wires securely bundled?” 

"Yes."

"Good. Now, take a look at the spinal column..." 

The android's hospital bed had transformed into a make-shift operation scene. The tool box was wide open at the end, but most of its contents were gone, placed in a stainless steel, wheeled medical tray at Ripley's side. Only ten minutes into repairing him, her arms were already covered up to her elbows in his white blood.

Rising from her seat to pull his detached hips closer to his abdomen, she dipped her head to see inside his ribcage and bowl of his pelvis. "What do I need to look for?”

"See if any if the vertebrae are damaged," Bishop replied. She picked up on the tightness in his voice. Ripley spent several moments studying his bones, and the several thick wires that made up the spinal cord.

"The bones appear to be undamaged, but some of the wires inside the spine are shot.” she responded. The android gave a quiet exhale in relief. 

From the elementary knowledge she had on androids, cords could be spliced and reconnected. Bones, not so much. Unlike humans, which could naturally repair itself with time and proper care, once an android broke a bone, it was done. Either the section of the fracture was manually cut out and had new material soldered with the rest of the undamaged part, or the entire artificial bone was removed and an entirely new one replaced it. She was not sure how that process went, but she predicted it was one hell of a costly job.

“Once you get those stabilized,” Bishop started, “Get the nano-splicers, electrical tape, solder, soldering iron, fuse pullers and crimpers.”

With the spinal cords were clamped down, Ripley grabbed the necessary items and went to work. A few minutes passed with the occasional snipping and frustrated grunt.

"Bishop," She finally asked, finished splicing off the damaged ends and giving her cramped hands a small break. She wiped some beads of sweat off her brow with the back of her arm. "How long have you been working for the USS Colonial Marines?”

 "Since the day I was issued from the company manufacturing plant.” 

"How long ago was that?"

 "Five years, three months, one-hundred-and-two days. A year before that, I was still in the plant being programmed with medical knowledge and training, as well as instructional and hands-on training to operate ships and other vehicles." There was a hint of pride in his voice, but never canted arrogance. Always with a calm formality. "Why do you ask?”

"Just curious. Weyland-Yutani never informed us about the backgrounds of their androids, let alone never announced whether we had one on board our rigs." Ripley answered bitterly.

"Your file mentioned you had been flying commercial ships for over a decade." 

 "Yes, just a little over thirteen years... Why are you so interested in such a mundane resume like mine?" She queried.

"I wouldn't call it mundane given the years of flight training under your belt," he praised.

 "No, I guess it doesn't." She admitted, feeling a warm bloom of flattery in her chest. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm not used to casual questioning. I've been grilled relentlessly by cynical company execs ever since I was taken out of hypersleep.”

 A moment of silence as she returned to the task of mending the spinal cords' filaments, grabbing the solder and the sophisticated soldering iron from the medical tray.

 "Have you always flown rigs for the company?”

"Yes. But for my entire flying experience? No." She flicked on the soldering iron. "The company's Horizon Beyond training program helped me learn how to maneuver the big boys, but my parents were my original mentors and teachers.”

 "How so?”

"I descend from a family of pilots, so naturally I was taught how to fly earlier than most. Although it wasn't until I was fifteen when I was allowed to run off with my father's cruiser…"

One cable soldered, six more to go. _Thank God._

"Bishop, tear off a strip of electrical tape, if you could." Ripley requested. She looked up to see he already had it in hand, a short strip already pulled but not yet torn off.

"Figured it would be easier for you if I did this," he remarked. "How much?”

"At least seven inches.”

Measured with his thumb, tore, then handed it to her. She thanked him as she wrapped the strip around the split cable. Ripley continued the process of delicate soldering, reconnecting and mending with tape in relative silence until she was down to the last one.

 "What kind of cruiser did your father have?" Bishop asked, picking up where they left off as he snatched the pillow behind his head to brace his elbows, propping him up.

 "A Yanma SR. Not the most dazzling cruiser on the block, but it was a nice ride and got me where I wanted it to go.”

 "Fascinating. I didn't know any were still around."

 "It was a relic, I'll tell you that. Alright hold on, I think..." She checked the cables. "Can you feel anything?”

"Yes," Bishop focused ahead, as if trying to articulate what he felt. "I can feel the connections being reestablished.”

She removed the clamps, then carefully lifted and slotted his vertebrae back into place. Bishop gasped sharply in response, his hands snapped to grip the sheets.

"You felt that?" Ripley asked, slipping her hands out of his mass of coils and torn synthetic skin.

 "Yes, I did.”

 “Are you feeling numb, or any discomfort?”

 “No. I feel... whole, again.”

 "Can you feel your legs?”

 “No.”

 "I figured," she relented. She fumbled with the cords embedded with marble-like cysts. "Do I need to reconnect these next?”

 "No, no," Bishop advised. "Not yet. I recommend repairing the intestinal system next.”

 Ripley reached for the large coils of tubing with miniature ribbing. "Would this be it?”

 "Yes it would.”

 She searched each length of tubing for any chance of a slot and peg, or something that could show how this could be re-attached and make her job easier.

 "You are going to have to slice off the damaged ends and seal them together," Bishop interjected.

 "Is there a glue of some sort in the toolbox?”

 "Yes, there is an adhesive that is of gorilla glue-strength. There should be a stick of it.”

She slid over to the end of the bed in her chair, sorting through the open tooltox for it.

"Ripley."

"Hm?"

"Have you thought about getting your own ship?”

Ripley responded with a smile. “That’s a given. I've given quite a bit of thought about getting my own, once I have the funds to buy one. As well as maintain it..." 

She trailed off as she snatched the short stick of adhesive, and a high-tech Swiss army knife, wheeling back to the surgery site. 

"Any models in particular you have an eye on?”

The Swiss-army knife bit into one crushed end of the intestinal tubes. "To be honest, I've never thought about what I wanted when it came to ships. I was never in the market. All my paychecks went towards necessities, taxes, Aman—”

She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling on about her _previous_ personal life.

"If you don't mind, I'd like a turn to ask the questions." Ripley suggested, wanting to steer the conversation to more pressing matters as she completed slicing off other damaged synthetic intestine.

"Fire away.”

Yanking open the cap, she carefully applied the adhesive to the freshly-cut ends, much like a glue-stick. It was translucent like rubber cement, but with crazy glue-consistency, and reeked of chemicals.

"What is the likelihood that the Marines will investigate Wey-Yu’s practices? Do they even have any power to land them in court?”

The android licked his lips. "I cannot be sure. While the Colonial Corps have worked with the company in the past, this incident is a first. I would expect a full-blown investigation on their behalf due to Corporal Hicks being the last man left in this squadron.”

Ripley shoved the split tube ends together and held it, waiting for the adhesive to seal. "Can they press charges for manslaughter?”

"Uncertain. But if the UN and United Colonies Charter got involved, you can expect a novel's worth of charges and allegations.”

Her eyes shot up to his, confusion written on her face. "Why can't the Marines do that?”

"I have only so much data about the relationship between the two.”

‘ _Only so much’_ her ass. ”Cut the bullshit. Tell me everything.”

A tense moment of silence. 

“Wey-Yu is commissioned by the military for their ships, vehicles and other machinery.” Bishop answered, “There might be a financial motive in protecting the company, and may go soft on their blunders.”

“How the hell could they let them off _that_ easy when the Marines lost men due to the company withholding information, which could’ve very well saved them?” 

“Their relationship extends beyond commissioning ships. The Marines occasionally give their protection during Wey-Yu’s surveying projects on more hostile planets and in return, the company will give them land claims for any future bases or USSC facilities that they wish to build.”

She set down the re-attached coils of guts, leaning back in her chair, distressed by the new knowledge. Now the probability of an outcome catering towards her favor seemed out of reach. She could see it now: a lengthy investigation with little to no word from the military and the company, only to have a gag-order and have it settled out of court.

 Or if details of this scandal was slipped, would the media take and run with it without fear of being caught in a blackout? 

“Ripley.”

Would the military and Wey-Yu still call her crazy? Unhinged? 

“Ripley."

Would there be enough to cause an uproar from the public?  _Would they even care?_

_"Ripley?"_

"Yes?" She was still trapped in half-thought, rubbing a milk 'blood'-stained hand to her temple.

“You do not look well.”

“All worse for wear.”

“Take a break." Bishop suggested.

"Thank you, but I'm fine." Ripley rose from her seat to reach the medical tray. ”I just need -“

"To take a break," he finished for her, insisting. 

“Bishop, I have to get this done.”

"I'm not going to shut down any time soon.”

A long pause, then came a rare sigh of defeat. "Alright," she pushed her chair back. He watched her quickly rinse off and flick her hands dry. "Only for a glass of water, and maybe some coffee,” she called out as left the ward.

* * *

What _will_ the Marines and the company do with them?

Hicks will most likely be questioned, and probably knocked down a rank for breaking his contract, but he might be allowed to continue his duties, depending how much of eyesight he loses. Newt and Ripley's fates were in potential limbo: the company will immediately suspect she had a hand behind the failure of the mission, not to mention the death of a company representative.

 But what about him?

He was ordered to obtain a specimen. In all technicality, he _failed._ Compromised due to Burke's brashness and ego-driven decisions. Would the company overlook this blunder, due to the information he's gathered? Or will this data be considered considered so sensitive, that anyone involved will be gagged or, in his case, “refurbished” once they take what they need?

* * *

  _Why the hell_ was _she going out of her way to repair him?_  

Ripley was baffled how the question only graced her mind _now_ , in the midst of mending the android.

She took her time preparing a cup of coffee. After almost twelve hours of adrenaline, hyper-alertness and near-death experiences, she was going to appreciate this mundane process. She the preferred settings in the brewer before taking another styrofoam cup to fetch some water from the dispenser. Leaning her back against the island counter, she was a lonely figure in the otherwise huge, deserted mess hall.

Her mind drifted in thought as she took swigs from her cup. She was just returning the favor. He saved her ass from being sucked down the airlock. Quid pro quo.

Didn't he compliment her, though? Was that just his programming... or was that his own personality showing? She was certain Ash never even uttered a word of thanks to anyone.

_Why was she tripping up over this?_

A shrill beep from the coffee maker echoed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Doesn't update in five years*
> 
> *still miraculously gets kudos and bookmarks for this unfinished "one-shot"*
> 
> Hey, wow, hi.
> 
> The I actually LOST the draft for this chapter, which had been on an entirely different document program on my previous laptop, before I switched over to my current one. But in a stroke of luck... I had saved it onto here!


End file.
